


Secrets to Keep

by mojober



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:02:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojober/pseuds/mojober
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly keeps Sherlock's secrets. Post-Reichenbach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets to Keep

_Breathe,_ Molly told herself. _Just breathe._

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Stamford walking at a fast clip down the hall toward her. Of course, he'd be the one to tell her. No one else would want to.

"Molly?" he called out, his voice strained and tense. She forced air into her lungs and looked up as innocently as she could. He stopped just short of her, his own breath labored and shallow from his excursion. "Something's happened to Sherlock. Just now. On the roof. Molly, I don't know how to tell you this but he's ..."

Stamford sighed heavily and shook his head.

"No," she said, covering her hands over her mouth. Molly closed her eyes, the tears coming up easily even though she knew this was a lie. She knew a lot of things she shouldn't.

"I'll get someone else," he said quickly but Molly shook her head adamantly.

"No, it has to be me," she said, her own voice tinged with desperation and longing. She peered into his eyes, pleading silently with him. She had to convince him. She had to. "I don't want anyone else ... handling him. Please, Mike. It's just he meant so much ..."

Molly let her voice break away, hoping that was enough. She let the tears silently fall until Stamford nodded.

"Okay," he said, his hands coming up to her shoulders to steady her. Molly swallowed hard as she pretended to compose herself. Time to act professional now. Sherlock was counting on her.

_"Tell me what you need."_

_"You."_

*****

She stared at the body bag on the trolley for a long time before finally approaching it.

The drug she'd given him would be wearing off in a couple hours. Already the wheels Mycroft had set into motion were churning and the rapid pounding of her heart became a _tick-tick-tick_ counting down the time remaining. His brother would identify him, John would not be allowed to see him and his "body" would be whisked away for a quick burial all in the next few hours.

In reality, she was going to wait for him to recover, then get him ready for Mycroft's "people" to help him disappear.

The thought made her stomach turn, as did the thought of the other body already locked in the cooler.

She'd have to deal with "Jim" later.

Molly jumped at the sound of her mobile. She reached into her lab coat pocket and did not recognize the number. She pressed it to her ear and before she could speak, he did.

"Change of plan. John's insisting on seeing him. He's at the window now but don't look up."

It took everything she had not to look up but she could feel his eyes on her. John absolutely could not see Sherlock. Already, he would be showing signs of life that a medical doctor would pick up. She would have to convince him, too. Stamford was easy but John ...

"Okay," she whispered, then slipped her mobile back in her pocket.

She took a deep breath, then slowly turned around to look up. Her eyes met John's and even from the distance, she could see the pain in them. Molly shook her head at him, then quickly headed up to meet him before he could come down. They ended up meeting somewhere in the middle, his body colliding with hers.

"I have to ... I have to see him," he stammered as Molly gripped his upper arms and tried to hold him back. He tried to push past her, but Molly held firm. "Please, I just ... you understand. You of all people should understand."

"It won't change anything," Molly said, summoning the tears again. "It's him, John and he's ... gone. He's gone and there is nothing you or I or anyone can do."

John stared at her for a long while and Molly felt a wave a panic sweep through her. She wasn't a very good liar and she didn't want to lie to John but she had to. She promised Sherlock she would.

"I loved him, too," she said softly, knowing he would believe that.

"No," John cried, his voice dying off into shallow whisper. "No, no, no ..."

He stopped struggling against her and dropped slowly to the ground, taking Molly with him. John crouched low, his body unable to support its own weight. He fell onto his knees and sobbed, his chest heaving hard as he clung to her. Molly thought about what to say next as she held him.

"See him tomorrow," she decided. _It was for his own good, wasn't it?_ "Let me clean him up, get him ready for you. It will be easier. It will better. Trust me. You can say your goodbyes then."

"Okay," he breathed in agreement. "Tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow, Sherlock would be gone._  
  
****

"Well done. We'll make sure he doesn't return."

Molly stared at the text and breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes felt sore and swollen from the tears and she rubbed them slowly. She leaned back against the trolly, her arm braced behind her as she closed her eyes for a moment. The quiet of the mortuary closed in around her and Molly lost herself in it.

She wished this wasn't happening.

And she hated that it was.

Molly felt herself drifting away into the darkness, until a hand grasped her wrist.

She shrieked as she spun around to see Sherlock awake. Molly took some deep breaths and pulled herself back together.

"You scared me," she said, smiling nervously at him. His hand slowly released her wrist. "How do you feel? Sick to your stomach? Light-headed?"

"I'm fine," he dismissed, although he lurched when he sat up. Molly reached out to steady him, her hands on his upper arms securely.

"Breathe," Molly said, doing it with him until they were both steady. Sherlock glanced down at her hands and she drew them quickly away. He stared at her, his gaze moving over her face in a silent appraisal of his own. Before he could ask, Molly blurted it out. "He believes it. All of it."

"Good," Sherlock said, but a flicker of sadness betrayed him. It was quickly gone, replaced by relief of some sort. He exhaled, then stared at her again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Molly said, looking him over. He was a such a mess. Her hand came up to the patch of dried blood plastering his hair to his face, her finger winding around a stray curl. "You need to get cleaned up. There's a room down the hall you can use. I'm ... I'm supposed to stay with you until ... until they come."

Molly wasn't sure why she was stammering. She didn't feel mousy in his presence anymore. If anything, she felt strangely empowered by it all. He trusted her with this, perhaps his biggest secret of all and in the second he'd asked her to help, everything had changed between them. Into what, she still wasn't sure.

She had less than an hour to get him cleaned up and ready for transport to ... wherever he was going.

_Less than hour with Sherlock._

*****

Molly carefully folded up his clothes and packaged them as she would for any of her patients. They were to go to Mycroft, even though John would probably want them. Molly only wanted the scarf, which had survived the ordeal in fairly good shape. He'd notice if it were gone.

She'd left the room dark, save for the crack of light from the bathroom where he was showering. She listened to the dull patter of the water as fell against his body.

For a fleeting moment, she considered joining him. She wondered what he would say, what he would do to her if she did. Molly felt a rush of heat move down into her core as she let the thought linger a bit more. There was an intimacy between them now, forged by his admission that she did matter and he always trusted her. Molly had known for some time his flattery of her was simply the means to get her to do whatever he wanted. She'd gone along with it, craved it even at times but now she knew it wasn't just a game to him.

Behind her, the water abruptly stopped.

"Towel, please," he instructed, holding his hand out from behind the curtain. She handed it to him, then set a different stack of clothes on the sink for him. Molly exited the bathroom and waited for him to dress. When he stepped out, she let out a little gasp.

The jumper was two sizes too big, the trousers shapeless against his slim form. He didn't look right, he didn't look himself, which was the point. Her eyes drifted up to his damp hair, which was already forming into curls.

"Shouldn't we do something with your hair?" she asked, knowing it would alter his appearance significantly. "Change the color, cut it ... or something?"

"It would leave evidence," he said, giving her a look that made Molly feel stupid. Then, his expression softened at seeing her reaction. "Thank you for your concern."

"Where will you go?" Molly asked, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "How long will you be gone? Will you be all right? I need to know ... something. Anything. You owe me that much."

The silence that followed was deafening. Just when Molly figured he wasn't going to talk to her, he spoke.

"Asia, Africa .. maybe Europe," he said quietly. "For long as it takes to straighten this out. I'll be fine."

"Will you?" Molly asked, tears rising up in her eyes before she could stop them. "Will I ever see you again?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he drew Molly into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her face tucked against his chest. It should've been awkward, like that kiss at Christmas but it wasn't. Wrapped up in his arms, she felt his body tense against hers. It was then she realized he was clinging to her, perhaps clinging on to everything he was about to leave behind.

Molly was still trying to process her own feelings when Sherlock pulled back just enough for his mouth to find hers. His lips pressed insistently into hers until she responded. It wasn't until Molly opened herself up to it that she felt his desperation, his need. It was something he could never express in words because his brain couldn't process so much emotion. It was intense in the fact it was so physical in nature, so contrary to his nature.

Molly found herself swept up in it and her own conflicting emotions. Up until now, Molly would've sworn what she felt for Sherlock was love but it was different now. She felt connected to him in ways she never imagined and didn't quite understand. There was a part of her that wanted to push him away but she pulled him against her even more. The kiss escalated until they both fell back onto the bed.

Her head was spinning as he divested them both of the clothing that was in the way. He was so single minded and precise in his actions that she decided just to let him do whatever he wanted to her. Her fingers wound into his damp hair as she breathed in the soapy scent of his skin. It was all happening so fast and it wasn't until he was deep inside her that their eyes met. In that moment, a silent understanding passed between them.

_Yet another secret for her to keep._

Sherlock started to move, slow at first but then he shut his eyes as the intensity returned. Molly's insides quickly began to tense. It had been a while and she was on edge already, swept up in her own thoughts and emotions.

_He could've died today. He didn't want to leave but there was no choice. Things would never be the same again._

Her own release came just seconds before his, the pleasure offering a brief comfort to the ache that was settling into her heart as their bodied stilled. She felt empty already, hollowed out to the point that tears were welling in her eyes. She closed them before he could see the tears, but not before one slid slowly down her cheek.

It didn't go unnoticed.

"Whatever they say about me, whatever lies you're told, just go along with them," he said, his voice low as he laid beside her. "I've put you into a great deal of danger but just be yourself, Molly Hooper. I've devalued your importance to me enough that no one will suspect you. You'll be fine. I know you will."

Molly silently nodded in agreement.

_What other choice did she have?_

****

In the weeks and months that followed, Molly found it surprisingly easy to pretend Sherlock was dead.

Everyone at Bart's who knew about her feelings for him simply avoided her of if they couldn't, avoided any conversation with her about Sherlock Holmes. He had been right because no one suspected she knew anything. Still, Molly felt her heart jump everytime her mobile received a new text just to have it plummet down when it wasn't from Sherlock. It was stupid to think he'd text her or try to contact her in any way. No matter what transpired between them that night, he wouldn't put her in any further danger.

Molly lined her instruments up on the tray, spacing them out evenly. At least she had her work to keep her busy. When she was finished, Molly picked up the tray and walked it over to the sink. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door to the mortuary open and a figure stepped in.

The sight of John Watson made Molly drop the tray. It crashed on the floor loudly, the metal echoing through the mortuary.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he said, lowering himself to help her pick up the instruments. They did so in silence until Molly was able to regain her composure. They both stood up slowly, the awkward tension filling the room.

Mycroft had taken care of the "funeral" arrangements, giving Molly the perfect excuse why John never got to say goodbye the next day. The body was gone and it was Mycroft's doing. At the services, John said nothing to her or to anyone for that matter. That was nearly three months ago and she hadn't seen him since.

"Do you need something?" Molly asked as she set the tray down on the counter. "Are you working on a case?"

"Actually, no," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets. He was dressed in a suit and looked nice. "I ... I had an interview today for a position here at Bart's as a clinic physician. Not my first choice but at this point, I need to find employment now that ..."

John's voice faded away and his eyes lowered sadly.

He was still grieving and for a moment, Molly wanted to tell him but took a deep breath instead. He had come here wanting comfort from someone who understood what it was like to lose Sherlock.

"I miss him everyday," Molly began, her voice a bit shaky as she started to ramble. "I mean, I don't miss him being rude or awful but I miss him taking over the lab or asking for things to experiment on or being happy that someone was just murdered. Not that he was ever 'happy' happy but you know ... happy in that strange Sherlock sort of way."

"I do know," John said, his eyes moving back up to hers. He smiled gently. "You wouldn't believe the mess he left behind and Mrs. Hudson refuses to touch his stuff. The rooms ... well, she tells me they've been 'taken care of' so I'm not having to pay rent which helps. I don't know if Mycroft is paying for them or Mrs. Hudson is just letting me stay on until I'm ready to move on."

"Are you?" Molly carefully asked. "Ready to move on?"

"Any day now," John answered with a heavy sigh.

"Me too," she said, nodding in agreement. Silence filled the empty space between them and Molly started to ramble again. "I mean, my friends ... they keep introducing me to men. Nice men, not that Sherlock wasn't nice ... "

"He wasn't nice at all," he said matter-of-factly. His voice softened before he added, "You know he cared for you, Molly. In his own way."

"Yeah," she said, looking down at her shoes. "I suppose he did."

Before Molly could say anything else, the door flung open and an intern tossed a parcel onto the counter.

"Package for you," he said, then darted out. John stared at it, then back at her.

"Test results," she dismissed. "I get about a dozen of those a day."

"Well then," John said, straightening himself up. "I supposed I should leave you to it. Good seeing you."

"Same here," said Molly and it was.

He nodded at her, then left her alone in the mortuary.

Molly sighed in resignation. Eventually, she would have to move on as well. There was no way of knowing when Sherlock would return or if he would return at all. Even if he did, things were different now. She was different now.

She picked up the package and tore it open. She was surprised to find a small item wrapped carefully in bubble wrap. Curiously, she tore away the tape and slowly unwound the wrap to reveal a little carved jade elephant. It looked very old, very valuable and ...

"Asian," she said out loud to herself. Molly closed her eyes as she pressed it gratefully against her lips. 

_Wherever he was, he was okay. And that was all Molly needed to know._

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this after Reichenbach, didn't finish it, but after seeing The Empty Hearse, decided to. I hope you enjoy.


End file.
